


the night of the pretty pink dress.

by tenderthings



Series: all soul's day [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Halloween, Suggestive Themes, dragon age halloween week, it's a party!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 01:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12570724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderthings/pseuds/tenderthings
Summary: She may have been seconds from falling over, but a good hostess never faints. Never.(for the prompts: hawke & co. have an annual halloween party. + “clad in a fancy costume and unable to dance.”)





	the night of the pretty pink dress.

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the final day of dragon age halloween week.

 

* * *

 

Pyres and braziers were lit and scattered around the city, the faithful taken to the streets in contemplation of the day and its meaning. Meanwhile, the not-so-faithful were having a good time at Hawke’s manor.

“Port wine, Isabela? Really?” Hawke fiddled with the bottle, sloshing its contents about as she squinted at it under the dim light.

“Oh, hush,” Isabela called out, walking back in with a few more bottles and several glasses. “I got it out of  _your_ wine cellar. You can’t judge my taste when it’s yours.”

“My wine—the door was locked!”

Isabela said nothing, merely rolling her eyes as she set the table. She took the bottle from Hawke, who was still needlessly offended, and filled the glasses up.

By the fireplace, the rest of their beloved and inane friends sat around, playing diamondback before Isabela had a chance to join in and, well, cheat. Hawke’s mother and uncle were nestled in their own little corners, carrying a conversation as they laughed and drank. For the first time in a long time, both siblings seemed comfortable with one another. It was likely the wine and the fact that they both looked equally ridiculous in their Orlesian get-ups. (It was Hawke’s idea; the Orlesians practically  _begged_  to be emulated on such a holiday.)

The only person missing was Carver, but Hawke had a feeling she wouldn’t be seeing her brother this year, or the next, or the year after that. Religious processions and pig-headedness made for decent excuses. Nonetheless, Isabela made sure the party would go on, with or without him.

“Why a pirate though?”

Isabela glanced up from her cup and grinned. “Why not a pirate? Don’t you find me to be very swashbuckle-y?”

“Yes, but you’re  _literally_  a pirate. Why be you, when I have to dress up as a—” Hawke sputtered, pulling at the skirts of the frilly pink dress she wore. “Pretty princess?”

From the other side of the room, Varric chocked on his laugh. “It’s what you get for leaving her in charge of costumes!”

Isabela would’ve retorted, but the dwarf laughed so hard, his false beard fell off and landed in his cup. She felt properly compensated as Varric grumbled and dunked his drink into an unfortunate vase.

Isabela tsked and patted Hawke’s shoulder, who was far too sober for so late in the evening.

“You’re a noble lady, not a princess. That’s Sebastian. Speaking of which—Sebastian! Where’s your crown?”

Glumly, the former prince was dressed up as a prince again, sitting cross-legged in Hawke’s very fine reading chair. Thoroughly defeated, he threw a deck of cards onto the floor before pointing at Fenris. Said elf wore nothing, but his typical clothes and an ostentatious paper crown, lopsided on his head. He was thoroughly, as they say, smashed.

Isabela initially suggested some gentle rope-wear for him, preferably from Hawke’s bedroom, but the latter vetoed the idea immediately.

“Mmm, well, he does look good like that.”

Fenris tipped his near-empty glass at Isabela.

“I’d agree, but I’m too offended by your ironic sense of humor to really get there.”

“Well, if you won’t get there, I will.” Isabela giggled at the dry look on Hawke’s face.

Back at the card game, Merrill, dressed as a pixie, was currently reaching in and claiming her pot o’ gold as Aveline was the last to fold. Like Fenris, the guard-captain came as she was, but only because she refused to dress-up as a golem, rocks and all. Admittedly, Isabela was reaching with that one, but she insisted that Aveline be who she truly was tonight. 

—That is before the other woman threatened to hold her for harassment of a guardsman.

Aveline said something that caused Merrill to actually shout, more high-pitched than anyone would think the little elf was capable of. She was drunk on victory and wine, an interesting if endearing sight. Now holding a handful of coins, she looked up and beamed at Hawke and Isabela, whom both smiled as Varric cheered. The three collectively knew that Merrill was the one cheating now, but why spoil the fun?

“You really should lighten up.” Isabela went on, watching Merrill. “Souls’ Day is for the pious and the young, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be clever about it whilst getting utterly, and completely, and terribly besotted.”

“I’m still mad about the dress, Bela. Is this what I am to you?”

Isabela gave her another meaningful side-eye, before floating away to join Merrill in her winnings. Hawke expected partial nudity within the next half-hour and reminded herself to send her mother off to bed by then.

She would’ve joined Isabela, but she has never been very good at official parties. Hawke preferred the filth of the tavern and the allure of post-battle blasphemy, rather than actual hosting, especially with family present. More to the point, she couldn’t easily move around.

The dress Isabela had ordered for her was a little on the small side, though Isabela swore it was to her precise measurements. Hawke should’ve questioned how well she knew her size, but this wouldn’t have been the first time Isabela got her something halfway decent, but halfway ridiculous. It was pink, pink,  _pink,_  with a corset so tightly wound and a bodice so low, even Aveline told her to be careful about breathing, or else she might “take an eye out”.

Slowly, Hawke exhaled, giving into her aching back and leaning against the table.

“Are you alright?”

She glanced to her side and bit back a snort.

“Anders, are you wearing a sheet?”

He bowed, fluttering his lashes at her through the eye-holes to make her laugh.

“Isabela said I should ‘summon the demons within’ and spook the sisters on the street tonight.”

“Well, did you?”

“No, but the night is still young,” Anders said, shrugging. “But really, are you alright? You’re red in the face.”

She waved a hand at him. “It’s the wine, I’m fine. Go enjoy yourself.”

He seemed to doubt her, not that she could really tell. Even so, she found the courage to fix her posture and shooed him off, making him promise to enjoy his night. Anders, most of all, needed to decompress and relax after one-too-many days at the clinic this week. If he couldn’t do it at the Hanged Man, he could hopefully feel comfortable in her own home. She may have been seconds from falling over, but a good hostess never faints. Never.

Once he was gone and distracted by Varric, Hawke slumped back against the table, rattling the glasses and bottles. She could set the dress aflame, here and now, or find something sharp to release her ribcage, but she rather not move for the moment.

Choosing to drink by her lonesome before attempting anything drastic, she noticed a pair of eyes staring at her from the across the room.

It was Fenris, looking more disheveled than she has saw a minute ago.

His hair was mussed, his crown was gone, and his cheeks were a bit flushed. Still, he looked perfectly alert and observant as he watched her. When she arched a brow, he took it as an invitation to saunter over, stepping over Anders as he did so.

“Hawke,” he said.

“Fenris,” she replied, suspicious.

He closed in, standing suddenly very close to her within a short breath. Feeling the impulse to appear fine, she straightened up once more, but discovered she had more difficulty keeping her balance this time. As she tittered back and forth, he grasped her by the hips as she was forced to brace herself, hands on his chest.

Thankfully, he seemed to only mistake it for alcohol-induced dizziness as he planted a small kiss on her nose. Then, his eyes widened.

“You look…” He stopped, glancing over her as if he only noticed her cleavage  _now_. “Nice?”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head, smiling to himself. “That was insufficient. You look good. Better than good. In fact, I think I like this dress. It suits you, despite the color.”

His hand moved and tugged on the lining of the bodice.

She blushed, though she wishes she hadn’t. There was something about good company and better wine that loosened Fenris’ tongue, often only to the point of casual compliments and lewd looks, but touching? Well. That was new.

He didn’t drink all that much, but he certainly reveled in it when he did. Hawke knew that much, but still—he managed to make her blush and that only added to how light-headed she was feeling. That was probably very inappropriate for a hostess, his free fingers fluttering along the silk material of her corset.

With a raspy laugh, she said, “Well, thank you. It was Isabela’s idea.” He didn’t look surprised, but waited for something more, staring down at her in the way he does. Biting her lip and thinking for a bit, she leaned into him, unconsciously. “I’ll be honest, I can’t really breathe in this. I mean, that’s probably the point, but I’m afraid to go more than two feet right now.”

Glancing back at the others, he leaned in as well. “Would you like to go your room and undress?” he said.

“Fenris!” She tried to playfully slap his arm, but he caught her in his hand. The mock-offensive wiped clean from her face, Hawke caught off-guard once more.

His eyes took on a hushed look as he spoke again. “I didn’t mean it like that. But you’ve seemed distracted all night and I’ve already given up my pot for the night. Besides…” Gently, he turned over her hand, his thumb running circles against the delicate touch of her palm. Where he was rough and scarred, she was soft and smooth, a life of hardship seemingly unknown. It’s one of the many things he loved about her and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to touch, and kiss, and fuck.

He didn’t care if any of the others were looking their way at the moment. He inched in for her lips, his noise brushing her cheek as he spoke into her ear. “I want to be alone with you.” He paused. “Just for a little while.”

Before he could react, she sagged in his arms, her knees buckling where she stood. 

The hand on her hip caught her before she could fall and Fenris carefully guided her back up, her weight falling entirely into his sphere.

“Hawke? Hawke?” He shook her a little. “Hawke, you’re sweating.”

“I think…” She licked her lips, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. “I think you should take me to my room. Now.”

Fenris catches the underlining tone in her voice, his concern turning into a lazy grin.

“As you wish.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> may later add smut, but for now, i hope you've enjoyed it as is!


End file.
